Breaking Point
by Elessie
Summary: Everyone has their breaking point. Isawen Amell finds hers.


Isawen Amell loaded the last of the lyrium packets into Alistair's waiting pack. "We just go through this stuff like candy," she complained. Catching the Circle quartermaster's speculative look, she quickly amended, "I mean, not really. Not like we're addicted to it, no, nooooooo. Ahem. We should really be going, there's darkspawn waiting for us. And believe me; they do _not_ care for tardiness."

Wynne grabbed the babbling mage by the shoulder and steered her away. "I think that's enough discussion on that topic, child." The senior mage gave her a meaningful look, and continued in a voice for her ears alone. "And perhaps you should think about cutting back on the lyrium. An addled Grey Warden isn't going to do us much good now, is it?"

Isawen gave Wynne her best impression of properly chastened. "Yes, of course, Wynne. Whatever you think is best." She looked down at the floor demurely, but curiosity soon won out and she peeked to see if the older mage was buying it.

Wrinkles creased Wynne's face as she narrowed her eyes at the younger mage. "Are you even listening?"

"Of course I am!" Isawen frantically searched for a distraction to turn the other mage's disconcerting glower away from her. "Or at least I'm trying to, but Alistair keeps making faces over your shoulder!"

"Hey," the accused cried indignantly, as Wynne spun around to stare him down, "I was not! I don't make faces!" The white-haired mage watched him doubtfully. "Okay, so I might make faces sometimes, but I wasn't just then! Really!" He shot Isawen a pleading look, but the girl just mouthed the word _sorry_ and took off for the door. "Well," Alistair stalled, looking back to Wynne. "I don't suppose I can get off with some cheek pinching? No? Please don't turn me into a toad. Or a frog, I hear frog princes are bad news. Arl Eamon would be disappointed."

Isawen pushed her way out of the stifling tower with a sigh of relief. Even after a thorough cleaning, the place brought to mind death, blood, and ashes. She was debating whether the lake water was too cold to splash her face with when the sound of her name being called spun her around.

"Isa! It's you, isn't it? Little Isawen?" The templar running up to her was helmed, but his voice exuded excitement.

Isawen frowned as she looked the templar up and down. She wasn't _that_ much shorter than him. "Look, whatever it was, I didn't do it. I've only been here for half an hour. There hasn't been _time_ for me to do anything."

His chuckle reverberated inside the helmet. "Ah, of course. And who did you have to lay the blame on all these years, without your big brother around?"

"Well, usually Jowan but I-" She paused, realizing she'd missed something. "What big brother?"

The templar removed his helmet and waited expectantly. When no reaction was forthcoming, he sighed. "You don't remember. You were only five years old when they took you away, so I guess it was silly to think you might recognize me." He took a steadying breath. "The day they took you away I decided I'd be a templar someday. So I could watch over my little sis just like I always had. I never told anyone we were related, but I think they must have known anyway. They wouldn't send me to the tower until after… you know, with the demons." He finished awkwardly.

Isawen sputtered at this revelation. "What? Why? A _templar_ of all things…" She backed away, looking for an escape from this earnest-looking young stranger who seemed to expect her to be thrilled to see him. She was grateful for the distraction presented by Wynne and Alistair exiting the tower at last. She waved them over somewhat desperately.

"I just found out that I have a brother," Isawen announced, like she was complaining that she'd just stepped in something disgusting. "And he is a _templar_." She emphasized the last word with a hiss.

Wynne frowned worriedly, but Alistair turned to beam at the templar. "A brother? Why, that's great!"

"Oh, it's supposed to be a good thing, is it? That my own brother might have been the one to kill me if something went wrong?" She turned an accusing look on the templar. "What were you thinking? Did they somehow forget to mention when they stuck the official templar stick up your arse that you're supposed to hate mages?"

"I swore to Mother that I'd find you, look after you," her brother protested weakly, looking crestfallen.

Alistair was looking at her like she'd grown a second head. "Hey now, that's no way to treat your brother! Besides, I was almost a templar and you like me anyway, don't you?"

Isawen was shaking her head at her brother, voice rising. "Well that was a pretty stupid way to do it, wasn't it?" Alistair received a scornful look. "Do I like you? I don't know. It's pretty hard to like you when you're _constantly_ reminding me that you were training to be one of our oppressors." His face crumpled into something more appropriate to a recently kicked puppy dog. She growled at him. "That face! I only accepted that stupid rose so I wouldn't have to see that pitiful face again!"

Wynne stepped forward to grab Isawen by the shoulder. "Child, you're becoming hysterical. Calm yourself, before you say anything else you'll regret."

"Something I'll regret?" Isawen was in full temper, a shimmer of heat beginning to build up around her clenched fists. "What I regret is how I was dragged off to become a Grey Warden! What I regret is travelling with you people! You act like you know everything, but _none_ of you want to lead. The only decision _you _make is about how you'll lecture me after making _me_ decide what to do. Well, I've about had enough!"

Wynne was muttering something under her breath, fingers twitching. Isawen didn't notice until it was too late. A solid gust of wind swept towards her, sending her stumbling and twisting across the small distance that separated her from the lake. The flames growing around her hands sputtered out before she even hit the surface. Appalled at finding herself on her hands and knees in the shallow water, the young mage found the answer to her earlier question. Yes, the lake water was too cold. It was shockingly cold.

Wynne rearranged her robes in the wind's wake and addressed the two gentlemen calmly. "Don't take any of that to heart. She's a little…unhinged, after running here and there trying to gather armies, with nothing but problems facing us, and the darkspawn always at our backs. And she has had far, far too much lyrium lately." She directed a grandmotherly smile at the pained young templar. "Don't worry dear, maybe you'll find a chance to speak to her again, when things are calmer." As she turned away to assist a much more sober looking Isawen from the lake, only Alistair heard her add, "But I wouldn't hold my breath."

Both men watched the dripping young mage stalk away from the group. The white-haired mage started to follow, but shook her head and returned to the two young men instead. Then Alistair turned to Wynne in puzzlement. "So does that mean she likes me, or not?"


End file.
